


Warmth from Winter

by Nearfisc



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Body Worship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hypothermia, I promise you'll know when you read it the animal lives, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Scars, Sex by the fireplace, animal death is implied but not intended, but it's really mild angst honestly, sweet sweet loving patient Percival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nearfisc/pseuds/Nearfisc
Summary: Percival Graves and Credence Barebone are sequestered in a cabin in the woods after the events of New York, away from Grindelwald's search. When Credence slips through ice, Percival is the one to come to his rescue and warm his chilled skin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I apologize! This is my first fanfic ever (good god, I promise I'm not some blushing teenager) and it was inspired completely by a request from @Fraxinus for some Gradence bodyworship. I wrote this in a day while running solely on caffeine and Zero (0) Sleeps, so please tell me if there are egregious mistakes...Con-Crit also highly welcome, as I don't plan for this to be all I submit.
> 
> Required listening: “Like Real People Do” by Hozier, “The Sound of Winter” by Bush
> 
> (Also for the record, I headcanon Credence as 21-24 years old.)
> 
> Please enjoy!

The snow burned his hands pleasantly. Percival Graves inhaled, silence and softness invading his lungs, the white surroundings swirling lazily and sharpening his senses. There was no one. There was nothing. There was overwhelming peace. It felt strange, but he liked it. He lurched from his momentary vigil and continued back to the cabin, leaving behind the constant and crushing beauty of the forest.

Newt had done a good job finding a place to stash an obscurial. There was no one to hurt or be hurt by a potential obscurus event. The current living quarters of Credence Barebone and Percival Graves was an observational outpost for the Magizoologist already, equipped with protective charms and modest provisions for an extended stay. Every couple of weeks Newt would come by with fresh supplies and check up on the health of both inhabitants. As far as anyone in the wizarding community was concerned, all Newt was doing in those woods was research for a particularly rare and particularly boring creature.

Of course, this lie was made more credible by the fact that it wasn’t a lie. He remained close enough in case of emergencies, wandering the expansive forests of Western Manitoba, but couldn’t risk staying for too long. MACUSA agents still occasionally turned up for questions, testimony, or even input on beast matters. He still had to keep contact with the outside world.

Aware that he was asking Graves to spend mind-numbing months doing nothing, Newt had suggested he use the time to keep an eye out for the creature he had hoped to find. The description he left the two with was vague. A large animal that moved under cover of conjured snow flurries; hoof-prints that resembled those of a great elk; apparently dependent on the bones of wolf kills. Human encroachment was eradicating wolves from much of their natural range, and he was worried that this would have an impact on the already uncommon snow beast.

“It’s quite harmless” Newt had said, waving his hand at Credence’s concern over it’s supposed dietary preference, “if it _does_ kill, I’m fairly certain it doesn’t target humans.”

And so, they had been left to their own devices.

In the past Graves would have taken issue with his circumstances. He was quite capable of watching, and waiting, and laying low for the opportune time to strike. This, though- the prospect of an endless Winter with no end goal in sight. Meaningless activities intended solely to prevent cabin fever. It would have been maddening, had it been an assignment given to him a year previous.  

Those annoyances disappeared when he realized the true purpose which had been laid before him. The young man who shared this strange, secondary imprisonment. The young man who, despite the immense power Graves knew was within him, seemed completely at a loss and out of place, even if his skin matched the brightness of the snow outside and his hair could have been plucked from any of the ravens that muttered in the branches by their windows.

The two men had been walking the South perimeter of the protection line when Graves had made the realization for the first time. The once-auror was muttering his own raven’s words, strengthening wards, prodding for weaknesses, when suddenly the soft and steady crackling of Credence’s soles on fresh snow halted behind him. He turned and was caught in a vision of purity.

Credence stood, equally transfixed by the sight of the river from the bluff where they had climbed. His cheeks were flushed by the cold, fogging breath dancing before his mouth, lips parted. He blinked, shaking away snowflakes that were caught in his black eyelashes.

_He's never seen it_ , Graves realized. The boy had been born and bred in a cramped, dirty city. How could he know the beauty, the power of a river that ran dark blue and cut through a landscape of sparkling white?

The sound of rushing water faded, but the image in Percival’s mind didn’t. There were many more moments like this, as he came to know the dark-eyed young man’s discoveries and reactions day by day in the solitude of their coexistence.

…

Credence returned to the river every day that it wasn’t snowing, after any daily chores were done. Percival restrained himself from using magic, leaving the boy tasks to occupy the days, and he took well to the work.

Sometimes he would stand on the same bluff, sometimes he would find somewhere closer to sit and listen. Graves would let him go, but only after walking the spell-line himself and insisting on stuffing the young man’s pockets with enchanted pinecones that gave off a warm, pleasant heat. It had become part of their ritual. When Credence returned, he would find Graves deep in his reading. Pages and pages of runes and spellworks now littered the tables of the cabin. The Barebone boy would stomp his boots, remove his outer coats and mittens, then close himself in the bathing room for a short while to clean himself.

By the time he came back out, draped in pyjamas a size too large and a tad too short, Graves would have moved to the small table by the kitchen fire. They would eat together, every night, side by side. It was quiet and it was modest, but Credence got the distinct and comforting feeling that it was the older man’s way of making damn certain he got some food in him. He could not put a word to the emotion he felt whenever he had a moment of understanding that Graves was doing something with his wellbeing in mind. It felt warm.

…

The river was where Credence sat that late afternoon. The air had taken on a bitter chill as Winter deepened. Ice, once passing in small and broken floes, now reached across more narrow patches of the water, solid enough to walk on.

Credence would never have tested this on his own, but on this particular afternoon he had company that did it for him. The first deer arrived calmly over the ridge of the opposite bank. The human sucked in his breath, eyes wide in wonder, before the rest of the herd followed. Slow and gentle they came, stepping lightly in the snow, before hesitantly nosing their way across the solid arm of ice, making their way to Credence’s side of the water. He watched them file after one another, ears flicking, heads nodding. This vision would have passed peacefully, had Credence known of the flightiness of wild prey species. He turned to watch the first deer climb up his side of the bank. The sudden movement caught the deer by surprise and all at once the chain reaction was started.

The deer which had already made it across gave a start and fled, leaping the bank clear, disappearing from view. Those few which had not crossed turned tail back whence they came, but one unfortunate animal gave itself such a scare while halfway across the ice that it accidentally darted directly to its right, landing in the water with a splash.

The sight of the poor creature struggling in the icy water was enough to spur Credence out of his surprise. Before he knew it, the spell-less young wizard was doing the only thing that came to mind: crossing the ice, reaching down, hoping to catch the deer by a flailing limb and haul it out. It seemed quite straightforward.

He did not get far.

The ice which supported the dispersed weight of a small deer on four hooves was not prepared for the clumsy steps of someone who did not grow up walking across frozen rivers or skating in Central Park. Four steps was as far as Credence got before the thin layer gave way beneath one leg. He gave a shout of surprise and immediately tried to compensate by lifting himself up with the other leg. It, too, punched through the ice, and the last thing the would-be savior saw before cold blackness was a world of white, white beauty.

…

_Wake up._

Hn?

_Wake up._

A headache pounded in Credence’s ears. Something was pressing against his chest so tightly it hurt. His eyes squeezed once, then squinted open to the image of Percival Graves, wand hand raised. A swirling blue mist extended from the tip of his wand and was curling around Credence’s neck and chest, pulsing lightly.

“Oh, gods, wake up” Graves begged, seeing the lidded eyes become self-aware. “That’s it, that’s it.”

The blue mist dissipated with a flick of his wand and the man’s arms were suddenly reaching to lift the young man’s body limply from the snow. Credence listened through the mental fog, caught somewhere between bemused and in pain. Everything felt awfully distant. Rather like a dream.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t fall asleep.” Graves’ voice was strong and commanding, his brow intensely furrowed and his breath warm on his charge’s skin. He stood, balanced himself, and set off back towards their temporary home, speaking words of wakeful encouragement while casting spells of warming sparks that hovered in the air near their chests for a few moments before fizzling out.

Credence was not aware of when he began to shiver, but he startled awake to the shaking of his limbs, the sound of running water, and firm hands stripping him of his clothes.

_No_ , he tried to voice, but the word caught in his constricted throat and he struggled to fill his lungs with air.

“Hold on, hold on” Graves muttered, working quickly to remove soaking wool and heavy cloth from the frail boy. “ _Hush_ now, you’ll be good soon- “

As each piece of clothing was removed it was replaced with warm, soft towels. Percival worked steadily, tossing aside the offending articles and wrapping his charge in cloth after cloth, cocooning Credence as best he could. When finally the boy was covered head to toe, steam was roiling from the bath tub and had turned the air of the bathing room into another thick, warm blanket that carried the faint scent of honeysuckle.

Determined arms pulled him up onto a waiting lap as Graves knelt on the floor and held Credence close to his chest. Neither man knew for how long they stayed like that. The afflicted lay quietly, curled in on himself as his shakes gradually lessened. His savior waited patiently, eyes probing for indication of injury. The most important thing was getting a hypothermic person warm. True examination would need to be done after.

“Where’s the deer?” The voice came suddenly, but softly. Graves jerked out of his thoughts.

“Deer? The snow elk?” He asked, surprised. Perhaps a run-in with a magical creature had been the cause of his discovery of Credence just before dark, unconscious on the riverbank.

“No” Credence answered, “the deer, in the water.”

Graves shook his head. “I only saw you.”   _Nearly dead_ he added to himself involuntarily. The thought sent a shiver of his own down his spine. “Are you alright?”

Credence thought of the water, the ice, the look on the deer’s face. He hoped it was alright. Maybe it had pulled itself out somehow. He doubted it, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Either it was alive or it was dead.

“Credence.” The other man’s voice pulled him back to the present. “It’s important that I know. Are you in pain?”

The cocooned figure thought for a moment, then shook his head. Graves didn’t seem convinced.

“If you’re sure. We need to make certain you’re kept warm. Will you allow me to do that, Credence?”

The Barebone boy nodded. His thoughts still felt fractured, divided somewhere between the peaceful river and the black water and Percival’s arms. He trusted the ex-auror and waited, pliantly, for whatever spell he was sure was coming.

The edge of one towel was lifted and Credence’s chest was exposed, briefly, to the air. Warm mist swirled around them but he still felt a chill pass over his skin. Graves rolled up his sleeves in turn and dipped one hand in the hot bath water.  Credence noted, languidly, the checkered patchwork of scars on the man’s forearms.

With a few clear, slow words the scented water gathered on Percival’s palm and pooled there, suspended in the air. He took his water-clad hand and pressed it to the bare chest, gently swirling the liquid over the boy’s heart until his skin warmed to the touch and the water cooled, at which point it was exchanged for fresh.

Graves repeated this action with slow and careful deliberation, pressing palm after palm of honeysuckle-hot-water against Credence’s torso, then stomach, then shoulders, then forearms, all the way down to his fingertips.

Where his hands passed over fresh bruises, he took a mental note. When they passed over old scars, clustered around palms and forearms and shoulderblades, he swallowed hard and heard static in his ears but moved on as if he’d seen nothing.

He applied the same treatment to Credence’s neck, then cheeks, then the back of his head and all through his rough-shorn hair, which elicited a most wonderful sigh from the young man. When he worked his way down past his hips, Graves was careful to preserve the boy’s modesty and gradually warmed thighs, then calves, then feet. When he had finished, the shivering had stopped completely. Credence breathed evenly and deeply, eyes open, staring at the feet of the clawed bathtub. He did not seem happy, but at least he appeared comfortable.

“Thank you” he spoke softly, eyes still on the claws as he moved to sit up. “That’s- thank you.”

Credence’s cheeks were flushed by the heat of the water and the increased bloodflow that Graves had been aiming for. His eyes were dark and reflective, obsidian divination spheres set between equally dark lashes. Percival was struck by a sense of loss and suddenly realized he didn’t want this experience to quite end.

“We’ve got to dry you off” he blurted. “by the fire. I need to check you for injury properly.”

Maybe he sounded convincing enough. Maybe the Barebone son was simply too tired to protest, or perhaps he was awake enough to have reverted to his state of defaulted obedience. Whatever the reason, Percival did not question it when Credence nodded, stood on unsteady legs, and allowed himself to be helped to the main room.

…

This time his charge was plenty conscious, which Graves noted from the difference in reactions he was being rewarded with- although he tried to pretend that he did not notice. He worked with the dry towel in the same pattern as he had with the hot water, rubbing calm circles on flesh that was gently exposed and warmed by the fire beside them.

A dark blue cushion embroidered with stylized moons supported Credence’s head as Percival knelt in different positions around him, every drying motion followed by a bare hand which kneaded and felt the flesh for any signs of missed injury.

“Mister Graves-,” Credence started, and Percival knew what the boy was about to say. His hands paused.

“Are you alright?”

Credence bit his lip and considered, looking lost as he ever had been.

“May I continue, Credence?” Graves asked softly. When the slow, careful nod came he set his hands in motion again, just as slowly and carefully in response.

He made his way down the younger man’s shoulders; arms; forearms; when he arrived at each hand, he paused to attempt to memorize each faded scar, looking furtively up at the boy’s face as he did. Credence’s features were unreadable. His eyes were closed and his brows slightly furrowed, his cheeks flushed pink, but whether this was embarrassment or pleasure Graves could not discern.

Percival did not wonder what his own feelings on the matter were. He pushed those thoughts aside and continued his slow, almost meditative work. Time was measured in the low crackle and shift of the fire. There was no hurry. Nowhere to be. Nothing to do, except breathe deeply and revel in this holy act.

He moved to Credence’s ankles and began to work his way back up towards the reclining man’s heart. Here, too, he felt gently but firmly for signs of sprains or bruising. It was as slow going up as it was going down and Percival almost did not notice, through his half-lidded eyes, when he reached a place on Credence’s thigh that had a more severe effect on another part of his anatomy.

“ _Oh”_ he thought, realizing the change in how the cloth lay in the other man’s lap “ _I shouldn’t have-“_

All thought halted when he raised his eyes. There Credence lay, gazing down at him with eyes wide, his hands raised with uncertainty and more than a hint of defensiveness. Graves was suddenly reminded of the deer he occasionally came across in the woods, the looks they gave him just before sprinting away through the trees. The Barebone boy had nearly the same reaction.

“I’m sorry” Credence choked, struggling to sit up and cover himself at the same time, “I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I’ll stop-“

Percival lifted his hands from the man’s thighs, leaning forward with his knees on the floor, involuntarily reaching out to take Credence’s hands in each of his own and stop their hurried scrabbling.

“It’s alright!” He said desperately, reassuring the younger man, holding those fragile and scarred palms in his own broad hands. “Honestly, stay, please!”

Credence hesitated, but whether it was out of desire to stay or instinctual obedience Percival could not say. It drove him mad not to know. He felt at once sharp sadness and infuriation that the young man had been made to think he was anything less than beautiful and loveworthy.

“Credence” Graves continued, his voice softening, “truly. You don’t have to go anywhere. I will leave you alone if you wish, but I’d rather stay, if you’ll allow.”

The exposed body beneath him trembled in shame and an oppressed flight response, head turning away and eyes closing tight as a red flush crept up his cheeks, but Credence didn’t attempt to pull his hands away. Nor did he seem resigned or genuinely frightened. Graves took that as a good sign. He waited long moments while the nervous young wizard mustered his words.

“I’m not-“ he halted “Isn’t it- bad?” Dark eyes turned back up to him, seeking, questioning.

Percival’s breath hitched in his chest.

“Dear boy,” he sighed, bringing one of those pale hands to his lips, “no. It’s not.”

He pressed soft, slow kisses onto the back of Credence’s hand, his own fingers caressing, manipulating.

“Let me show you.” He murmured, continuing his exploration by gently exposing the palms upward. His lips and tongue brushed along every raised welt, every scar, warmth spreading through the puckered flesh. He moved almost reverently along Credence’s skin, coaxing him back down onto the starred cushion, feeling his way up the obscurial’s forearms until he could press the willing but worrisome body back down onto the soft floor.

Credence was lost. He no longer wished to flee, but he was completely out of his depth with the attentions being lavished upon him. What should he do? What did Mister Graves want? What was the purpose of this? Whispers and kisses were migrating up the crook of his neck and across his collarbone and oh, god, he didn’t want it to stop. His thoughts were a jarring blur of hope and doubt, random-fire ideas that intruded on the pure, almost innocent sensations of skin on skin contact. The man now bent over him was nearly fully clothed yet this felt so overwhelmingly intimate.

_He wants the best for you,_ came one thought, small and immediately drowned out by the next: _He’s a man, right? You’re the only one around. He’s using you._ Credence’s eyes squeezed shut and his head tilted back on the pillow as he tried to ignore the turmoil in his head. Whatever the motive, the strongest part of him knew he wanted this.

Percival took this as a signal of beckoning and quickly obliged, absolutely entranced and getting lost in his attentions. Soft, warm tongue met smooth, pulsating skin as he acquainted himself with the young man’s neck. He kissed his way up to the obscurial’s jawline, resisting the urge to nip and bite. He raised his head, supporting himself on one elbow, and with his other hand reached up to gently comb back that ink-black hair.

“Credence, Credence” he asked, as if reciting prayer. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

Credence opened his eyes in disbelief. He knew that he was not. Even without the history book of scars roped across his body, he knew that he was more of a broken thing than a vision. It must be lies.

Was this his cue? Was he supposed to say something? Was he supposed to do something? His hands searched for something to hold on to and they found Percival’s shirt. No answer came from his lips, but his fingers curled through the fabric, seeking further touch.

Graves reveled in the affirmation and in a moment of boldness he stroked his fingers through the boy’s hair, grasped it gently, and leaned down to give him the most chaste and understanding of kisses.

Credence closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he felt. Supreme longing, foremost, as his eyes closed once more and he was able to feel nearly all of Graves’ clothed body pressing against his. As he kissed the man back, sweetly, shyly, he did feel something a bit more tale-telling. Through the fine fabric of Mister Graves’ trousers, he could unmistakably feel the beginnings of the hardness of a man with more explicit intentions on his mind.

_I told you_ , the voice said, _he’s a man, like all others._

_Fine,_ he thought back, almost angrily. _If that’s how it is, let it be._

The feeling of Credence’s hand moving between his legs nearly made Graves jump out of his skin. He sat up with a jerk and looked down at the boy wondrously, quickly grabbing down to move the unexpected intruder away from his clothed member.

“ _Gods_ , you surprise me daily” he panted, laughing. Credence did not look so merry. He looked confused. Percival sobered somewhat when he noticed that it wasn’t enthusiasm that had driven the bold move. It seems he would have to take this a bit more point by point.

“Credence, you don’t need to do anything.” He said slowly, his voice low and reassuring.

“But- you- isn’t that the point?” Credence asked, at a loss as to how he could have possibly made a mistake. That’s how it was, right? Mister Graves was hard, Mister Graves wanted release, that’s why he started all this, that’s why he said those things. It was the only explanation.

“You dear, beautiful creature!” Graves growled, lowering himself back down from his straddling position, joy and pity tinting his speech. “I do this because I want to. Let me show you how marvelous you are.”

Credence gave a yip of shock when deft fingertips pinched at his raised nipples, worrying them lightly as Graves continued his thorough exploration of the boy’s body. His confusion was not settled, but he was finding it easier and easier to lose himself in the affections of the older man. The capable fingers were tracing deep circles in his flesh, working their way down and halting to massage his taut stomach, followed closely by deep kisses on his sternum, his ribs, the corners of his pelvis. It was maddening.

More maddening, though, was the response his body was having at the only place spared of Percival’s touch- the only place decently covered and private. Credence squirmed, hands grabbing at the towels by his sides, blood pulsating to the appendage that had started this whole troublesome scenario. He simultaneously hoped Mister Graves did not notice and prayed that he did.

Credence had no reason to pray. Graves knew. He knew, and he was absolutely delighted.

“Credence” he asked, his breath coming in warm huffs as he continued probing against warm skin with his fingers, “have you touched yourself, since we’ve been here?”

The victim of his relentless worship gave a look of abject terror.

“Er-“ Credence stuttered, embarrassment and arousal giving him the _loveliest_ shade of blush, “touched- I’ve- I mean what do you- oh!”

Percival had shifted the towel ever so slightly, moving the fabric against the still-hidden head of his idol’s cock. He grinned as he watched those shoulders give a heave.

“Touched. Here”

The obscurial was helpless. He nodded quickly, eyes shut tight.

“And what were you thinking of when you did?” He asked, as casually as one might ask about the weather or a meal.

At this, Credence’s mouth clammed shut. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He daren’t say. It was just too much. Percival laughed. He didn’t need to press for answers. He could find out some other week.

“In that case- Credence, can you do something for me after all?” He murmured, gently raising one of Credence’s scarred hands to his mouth once more.

Credence struggled to open his eyes, the whole scene playing out before him like a storm he was experiencing too closely. He felt Graves’ tongue press hard into his palm, licking, sucking, beckoning. They locked eyes and the older man stared into his vision, unblinking, a trickster smile playing on his lips. Holding the young man’s hand in his own, he slowly moved it to that area between Credence’s legs. The towel slid off smoothly and Credence felt his own hand wrap around his member, with Percival’s on top of both, guiding him into a tortuously slow rhythm.

Credence remained speechless. His cheeks burned with the sheer brazenness of the act, but it was drowned out by the feeling of sweet relief. Once Graves was confident that he would keep going on his own, he removed his hand and returned to his worship of the rest that Credence’s body had to offer.

“That’s it” he encouraged, mesmerized by the sounds coming from beneath him, reacquainting himself with now-hard nipples before his lips.

“Credence” he said, voice full of admiration, “Credence, oh, you’re _amazing!_ ”

His assault began anew, lips and muttered praises and prayers and hums raining down onto Credence Barebone’s face and neck and ears. Credence was performing his role in earnest now- this was definitely something he knew how to do, and it pleased Graves to think about the young man exploring himself alone in the dark.

_Well_ , thought Graves wickedly, _not alone anymore._ His own shaft was hardened and pressing deeply into the fabric of his trousers, but he paid it no mind; instead he focused on the now-lilting breath coming from the other man’s mouth. He reached with both hands this time to grab at either side of Credence’s pelvis, fingers wrapping around the sides, his thumbs pressing steadily into the soft flesh of muscle directly interior to the bone.

For a moment Credence wavered, the doubt crossing his face again when Percival sat up as though straddling him, but Graves gave him a smile overflowing with loving patience and dug his thumbs in with steady circles.

“Keep going, beautiful” he heartened. “Come on, now, it’s perfectly alright. Show me.”

This was all Credence needed. It was too much. The sensations, the loneliness of their cabin, the understanding attitude of the man currently urging him towards orgasm, the nights he’d already spent in his bed imagining Mister Graves-

His eyes widened and his chest constricted, his whole body jolting forward as he cried out in release.

He lay, trembling, eyes shut tight, vision whitened and blurred, flooded with shame. He covered his face with his forearms, mind jumping from one anxiety to another. _Oh God He Saw, He Was Right Here and He Saw and-_

“Credence!” The voice exclaimed, and he was brought back to the shockingly quiet present reality, the soft sound of a low fire murmuring beside them both.

“Credence, you- you were wonderful.” Graves breathed, reverence soaking into his words like communion wine. Gradually the rest of the room returned to Credence’s senses. The cushion; the chairs; the carpet.

Now a new sensation came into play- the feeling of a warm, wet towel moving gently across his skin as Graves lovingly cleaned up the mess he’d helped make. When Credence moved his arms from his eyes he expected derision, shame, or flat boredom. Instead he was greeted by a visage of sheer wonder.

“Are you alright?” The man asked, a contented and knowing smile playing across his lips.

“Yes” Credence answered quietly, voice wavering. He didn’t know exactly what he was, but “alright” sounded…alright. His thoughts wandered back to the things Graves had called him. _Maybe not lies,_ that small voice suggested. He was allowed to think that without interruption. It felt nice.

“Good.” Percival nodded once, as if that said everything that needed saying. He hummed low to himself as he pulled a thick blanket over both of them and settled down by Credence next to the firelight. Strong, clothed arms wrapped around the scarred torso of his new responsibility, and both men wondered what they had done in life to deserve the long period of contentment they enjoyed before falling asleep.


End file.
